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”“From now on I’m not allowing deliberately wrong answers,” I said, but I still slid my hands inside her bra cups, pinching and squeezing tense nipples as the woman’s hand kept moving inside her knickers.I’d never heard a woman express such uninhibited lust in a single sigh. “If I give a correct answer, will Teach fuck me?”She was exaggerating the cultured aspect of her voice, knowing full well how filthy it made her words sound. I answered with a new question. “For which novel was Iris Murdoch awarded the Whitbread in 1974?”“Please fuck me, Teach,” Karen breathed. “I’m such a naughty girl.”“Giving the wrong answer won’t get you what you want.” But I had to do something. As her hand continued to work inside her knickers, I hauled her breasts out of bra, leaning over to clasp one between both hands and close my lips round a nipple seeming trembling for attention. What little blood hadn’t flowed to my cock now went straight to my head.I straightened up, placing my hands on her. I saw a rogue newspaper going flying past my ankles as I walked the streets, admiring the fine autumnal day we had been blessed with. I felt the strength of the wind gain force and I saw you desperately fighting with the wind to keep your skirt down, but you were in a losing battle sweetheart. Just when you thought you were safe, and just when you walked past me, the wind gained force after a brief moment of rest, and I saw everything. For five glorious seconds I saw that you were wearing the tiniest pair of panties underneath your skirt. I saw the outline of your pussy lips against the fabric, I saw the small, tidily kept patch of dark hair and I could have sworn I saw a small patch of moisture. You thought you had won your battle with the ruler of the winds, as the wind died down for a small time, but I must have had the blessing of the Gods because as you walked past me, the wind blew your skirt right up. I saw your tanned, smooth thighs and the curve of your ass as you battled.
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